Blog

I just convinced my kids to go back to bed for a little while. Now I sit in the chilly morning (haven't made a fire yet) thinking random thoughts like, "I really have a lot of hair," as I attempt to put it somewhere comfortable while I sit. A good friend of mine has dreadlocks that reach below her bottom, and I always marvel at the fact that she doesn't seem to mind sitting against it. I'm constantly searching for somewhere to put my hair, should it be around at the front? Off to one side?

I just wanted to share some silly kid stuff with you this morning. My kids have me laughing at them all the time, in their different stages of growth, doing what they do. I love hearing the YaYa Sister beginning to form her own little thoughts and imaginary plays as she gets closer to turning three. The other day she was sad, probably because she fell, since she falls about seventeen times in the space between when she wakes up and when she takes her nap, and I held her for a minute and then said, "Okay, time to get some lunch!"

"Well, yeah, but mostly just because it's lunch time." My kids are always asking me for something to eat or drink to "feel them better," and I have some sense of responsibility about not making them feel like eating is the only way to feel better. Maybe I've been reading too many magazines.

"It WILL," she insisted, in her intimidating little pipsqueak voice. "It will go into my leg and feel me better!" Kid A has always had this vivid imagination when it comes to his food moving around his body, and YaYa has picked up on this. They often try to get more treats based on the fact that their food has already moved into their legs, and therefore doesn't count anymore.

Kid A has been on a different track lately, tuning into his various emotions and turning to me for some sort of answer about why he feels the way he does during different confusing times. When we drive, he calls questions from the back of the van:

"Why are my eyes closing?"

"Why am I yawning?"

"Why am I tired?"

The other day YaYa hit her head, (what did I tell you about her falling a lot?) and she cried a different kind of cry, the sort of chest-splitting cry that has you picking your kid up in an instant. As I was comforting her, Kid A asked me, with a little wobble in his voice, "Why am I going to cry too?" It's like the first branches of empathy showing their knobby ends, and he's confused, like "She's the one who's hurt, why am I crying?"

These things fascinate me, they turn me into a scientist and I sit with my notepad and pen and take notes while observing my kids. "During imaginary play today, bad guy named: The Wicked Pharoah. Funny. Good memory and application skills."

And then there's Leaf. He's actually probably progressing the fastest, but his talking is still like this:

"Nyah hunuh gloo feeb MAMA gla gla gla gob." Scientist me: "Babble has become almost continuous, ready for conversation. Good variation of consonants. Sign language coming along." Other me: "I love this baby so much I think I might die from it."